Persistence
by Stacy Galore
Summary: Theodore Nott has a scar. A silvery white scar running horizontally along his left side. In the years after it was inflicted by Draco Malfoy, it stretched with his skin and faded as he grew but never disappeared, much like the memory.
1. Infliction

"Persistence"

By Stacy Galore

_Disclaimer: I do not own these characters. Jo Rowling does. I just play with them._

_Thanks:_

_This is the first multi-chapter fic I've ever managed to complete in a long line of unfinished works-in-progress. I have these people to thank for that. For their encouragement, creative input, and editing, much love goes out to Jenniffer, Megan, Daniel, and Jenni. Funny how three out of the four role-play Draco on Twitter, eh? For their inspiration, DracoTMalfoy, NottTheodore, SlashyDraco, and Draco_licious. Follow them on Twitter. For the music that inspires us all: Portishead, Suede, Placebo, The Cure, Split Seven Ways, Malfoy Manor, and Zoe's Adventures Underground._

_Credits:_

_Jenniffer must be credited for the idea of Theodore and Draco fencing. I can't remember who came up with the idea behind Theodore's mother's death first, Daniel or I, so I'll just credit Daniel to be safe._

"_Persistence" is dedicated to the chain-smoking introvert sitting in the darkened corner of the café._

Chapter 1: "Infliction"

Theodore Nott has a scar.

A silvery white scar running horizontally along his left side, a few centimeters below his last rib. In the years after it was inflicted, it stretched with his skin and faded as he grew, but never disappeared, much like the memory that accompanied the scar.

Soon after the shallow but painful cut was inflicted, Theodore tried to charm away the mark by himself. He was only fourteen-years-old, and not proficient enough at medical spells to effectively erase the damage, let alone heal it properly. In doing so, he probably contributed to the permanence of the mark. He didn't dare ask Gran or Father to fix it, unwilling to reveal how he got the cut in the first place.

He received the cut while fencing with Malfoy. The fact that they were sparring wasn't an issue, for the boys had been pitted against each other for years. The reason that Theodore let his guard down in the first place was what made the scar potentially damning.

Malfoy bested Theodore in many things deemed important by the majority of the wealthy, prominent, (shallow) pure-blooded wizards their age. Both were quite aware of this and understood their place in the Slytherin social circle, with Malfoy at its epicenter and Theodore planted stubbornly outside of it with his back turned in silent protest. Why serve as Malfoy's right-hand man when he could be his own man? Draco was marginally better looking, though his cockiness somehow increased his appeal to the opposite sex by ten-fold. He was more agile on his broom than Theodore, who had a terrible fear of heights and no interest in quidditch anyway. Malfoy was slier than Theodore. He could lie through his teeth artfully and get away with things Theodore wouldn't dare do on his own (though Theodore was occasionally a reluctant accomplice.)

These characteristics mattered little to Theodore. He prided himself in the few ways that he was actually superior to Malfoy. Theodore's father encouraged these characteristics to flourish and was quick to point them out to Draco's father at every opportunity. If Theodore ever gave anybody so much as a hint of doubt that he was indeed the cleverest boy of their age, his father would beat it out of him – not with his hands, but with his brutal words, which were just as hurtful. And if Theodore ever lost a fencing match to Malfoy, well… he didn't want to even think about what his father would do to him. Draco was a fair match at fencing, but not quick enough to beat Theodore.

There was only one time that Malfoy was able to gain ground upon Theodore enough to cut through his defenses. It was not an unusual match at Malfoy Manor, that summer before their fifth year of Hogwarts. The fact that nobody was watching had little effect on the ferocity with which they competed against each other. Theodore was reveling in his ability to stand his ground easily while Malfoy was struggling to advance upon him. He enjoyed watching the pale boy flush with frustration and added to his aggravation by carrying on a conversation during their sparring as casually as if they'd been sitting down, Malfoy barely able to sputter out answers.

"You know what your problem is, Malfoy?" Theodore asked, with a patronizing inflection to his haughty voice as he swished his sabre elegantly around Malfoy's. "Do you know why you can never beat me?"

"Because you're a slippery motherfucker." Malfoy huffed and jabbed forward with his sabre, a flustered sneer on his sweaty face.

Theodore knocked the point of Malfoy's sabre away as if he were absent-mindedly flicking a mildly bothersome fly. He continued his analysis as if the other boy hadn't interjected with anything. "You try too hard. You focus too much on beating me when you should be focusing on landing your mark."

Theodore's foil whipped across Malfoy's cheek, scratching the thickly cast protection charm, marking his pallid skin with a bright green line indicating a valid touch was made. "And frankly, your aggravation makes it way too easy and too enjoyable to beat you."

Draco halted play and stood glaring at the other boy, his white-blond fringe fell over one side of his face, rendering his expression to one of feral rage – silver eyes seething with pent-up frustration, teeth clenched with spite. "Want to know what I think, Nott?" he spat.

"No, but I have a feeling you're going to tell me anyway," Theodore sighed, not bothering to look at Malfoy as he superfluously cleaned the length of his sabre with a cloth.

"I think that if you were in a real duel without protective enchantments you'd shit yourself before you could get your sabre out, let alone your wand," Malfoy drawled arrogantly.

Theodore continued to run the cloth over the sharp foil, keeping his eyes down so as not to reveal that Draco had indeed hit his mark. Theodore was confident in his skills as a fencer, though the idea of real combat frightened him. More of a self-preservationist than even Malfoy, he was always one to run from confrontation if it threatened to become physical. A duel of words? No problem. But add hexes or, Merlin forbid, weapons into the equation, and Theodore was not too proud to hide under a table. Chalk it up to a traumatic childhood as the son of a Death Eater or blame it on an over-protective grandmother, but he'd never admit to being a coward.

He shrugged, feigning indifference. "I'd never be stupid enough to find myself in that situation, so it's irrelevant." He returned to a dueling stance and asked with a slightly irritated sigh, "En garde?" indicating that he wanted to continue the match as if Malfoy hadn't issued an indirect challenge.

Draco mirrored his dueling stance, glaring at him with a malicious smirk. "Let's do this like real men. No protective charms, no scoring spells. We'll know if we make a valid touch when somebody bleeds."

Theodore swallowed hard, the adrenaline-tinged metallic taste of fear on his tongue. He kept his expression blank, lest he show any signs of uncertainty. He knew if he refused a challenge, especially one involving fencing, he'd never hear the end of it. The news would no doubt find it's way back to his father. "Fine. Have it your way. But I think we both know you'll run crying to your mummy when I make you bleed."

Malfoy waved his wand, taking down the enchantments, then pointed his foil at Theodore sneering, "En garde, bitch."

Theodore excelled at sabre fencing because it required a mastery of footwork. He was as good with his feet on the ground as Malfoy was in the air on a broom, if not better. He danced across the floor towards Malfoy, swishing the weapon gracefully, doing his best to discount the potential of bloodshed. Distraction always worked well against the other boy, so he employed it as he would any other match.

"I really shouldn't be doing this. Your mother will have my head when she sees her precious boy marked up with cuts," Theodore mused, already hearing Narcissa Malfoy's horrified shriek in his head.

It was clear that Malfoy found it difficult to talk whilst waving his sabre around frantically. "At least… I have… a mother."

Theodore's sabre slashed through the sleeve of Malfoy's fencing robes, deep enough to cut the white fabric, but not enough to scrape his skin. Malfoy's words, however, cut deeply. "I would expect you to use that line with Potter, but you're an impudent little shit for using it with me." His brow creased as his eyes narrowed, unable to hide his emotional injury.

Malfoy smirked and flitted forward with his sabre. "Hit a nerve, have I?"

Theodore evaded his parry, still glaring at him.

Whereas Lilly Potter's death was one of modern folklore and legend, the death of Esperanza Nott was shrouded in mystery. The only people who knew exactly what happened were the people that witnessed it, including Theodore. When he was five, a group of masked Death Eaters entered their home. Theodore hid beneath the furniture and watched with utter horror as his mother was interrogated, tortured, and raped, supposedly for her treason against The Dark Lord and his followers. They left her for dead on the drawing room floor. At the time, Theodore didn't know who was behind those masks. As he became more exposed to them over the years, he would later identify them. Amongst them were his father and Lucius Malfoy. Hours later, as he helplessly lay curled up around her on the floor, he felt his mother slip away. The incident was covered up and reported as an unfortunate result of a brutal burglary.

Malfoy knew. Theodore told him the story when Malfoy first began speaking about his aspiration to serve the Dark Lord. He had hoped the truth would remove the glamour of being a Death Eater and would dissuade Draco from joining their ranks. Of course, Malfoy didn't want to believe it and attributed the made-up story to Theodore's supposed jealousy. Theodore suspected that Draco secretly believed it and was no doubt horrified by the fact that his father was involved.

"You bloody well know it," said Theodore, "I can't believe you'd say such a thing considering the information you're privy to."

"I know you're a liar," Malfoy hissed as he stepped forward, gaining upon Theodore as their sabers clashed.

Theodore was livid and on the verge of angry tears as he batted away Draco's weapon. "Why would I lie about such a thing?" As he began to lose composure, his opponent found it easier to whittle down his defenses, as indicated by the ease with which Malfoy was speaking.

"Because you don't want to face the truth that your mum was a slut. She slept around on your dad and he had her killed."

Theodore went sickeningly white with shock as his world seemed to come to a grinding halt. Everything stopped. Everything, that is, except for Malfoy who took the opportunity to deliver a slashing blow to Theodore's side, slicing through both fabric and pale skin. Theodore glanced down to the place where Malfoy's sabre had met his body and saw his own blood decorating his white fencing robes in stark contrast. He didn't feel it, too numb from the trauma of Draco's accusation. He watched his weapon fall from his limp hand. The clattering sound of it hitting the stone floor barely registered in his head. His eyes looked blankly at a nondescript point in the distance, possibly at the blond boy in front of him, but he was too stunned to focus.

It very well might have been true. The realization hit him like a brick in the head. It was emotional over-load. Questions began to flood his mind as if Draco's words had broken a dam. How could his father just watch idly while this happened and then lie about it later to the Ministry? What were the Death Eaters actually interrogating his mother about? He faintly remembered them badgering her about the identity of an offending party and the frequency of the offenses, to which she finally replied under much duress, "It was only once and it was one of us." That seemed to set them all off. It could have meant anything. Still, Draco's accusation could easily fit.

Theodore hadn't realized Malfoy was striding up to him and advancing towards his face with a smug grin until his hot breath was already upon his cheek. "You see, Nott, _I'm_ privy to a lot more information than even _you_."

This was enough to snap Theodore back into the present. Just as fast as the color drained from his face, did it return to flush his countenance with rage. He turned on Malfoy swiftly, knocking him to the ground with fists clenched into the front of his shirt, his sabre dropping in the process. Theodore pinned the other boy down with the weight of his own body and impaled him with an ice-blue glare. He bit his trembling bottom lip, struggling to collect himself enough to form words, but his thoughts could not converge into a coherent sentence. So he lay silently atop Malfoy, breathing erratically and shivering with anger.

"If you're not going to hit me, I suggest you get the fuck off of me, unless you're keen on proving to me how much like your mother you really are." Malfoy smirked. It was the most infuriating smirk he'd ever regarded Theodore with. Behind it was a knowing gleam. Maybe Malfoy _was_ privy to more information, not just about the circumstances of Esperanza Nott's death, but about Theodore himself.

"What?" was all Theodore managed to choke out.

Malfoy drawled irritatingly, "Are you going deaf, Nott?"

Theodore stuttered, "I d-d-don't understand what you're playing at, Malfoy."

"Perhaps you're not as clever as you think?"

Then the inconceivable happened. Malfoy's arms reached up around Theodore's back and folded over his neck, fingers gently raking through his dark hair. The other boy stared up at him with an astute glimmer in his silver eyes.

"I watch you, Theodore. I know you. Better than you know yourself. And I recognize desire as easily as my own reflection."

Malfoy was now trailing a hand down Theodore's spine. "You want what you can't have."

His other hand, still laced in Theodore's hair, was easing his head down, slowly closing the gap between their faces. "The question is, are you going to be like your mother and take what you want anyway? Regardless of social protocol or consequences?"

Malfoy cocked his head to the side, preventing the collision of their noses, as his face drew nearer. "Or are you going to be a pussy, like always?"

The other boy's parted lips were so close that Theodore could feel the warmth of Malfoy's breath on his mouth. His heart was pounding so hard he could hear the whooshing sound of his blood coursing through his ears. All that blood in his head was rushing somewhere much further south, making him dizzy. He felt a twitch within his trousers and quickly rolled off of him, completely surprised at how cruelly his own body had deceived him. "You're daft, Malfoy," he said, voice still shaking.

Theodore stood up quickly and nearly fell back down again from the dizziness elicited by the sudden change in altitude of his head. That's when the pain of the cut hit him. He clutched at it and hunched forward, croaking, "Fuck!" He was covered with blood.

Draco too was painted crimson with Theodore's blood, posing with a self-satisfied grin and a hand resting cockily on his hip. "That, my friend, was most definitely a valid touch."

"Touche," Theodore muttered before storming out of the room.


	2. Rejection

"Persistence"

By Stacy Galore

_A/N: I feel like I took a lot of the ideas for this chapter from Jenniffer and Daniel, so I'm crediting you just in case. _

Chapter 2: Rejection

The wound that Malfoy inflicted was nothing compared to the gash he left on Theodore's mind. Everything the other boy spoke echoed in his head, leaving him in a somber daze. But one thing haunted him even more than the thought of his mother being less than an innocent victim. That one thing plagued him as he lay restlessly awake at night. It infiltrated his dreams.

Draco Malfoy, that smug bastard, tormented him, even in his sleep. In these nocturnal invasions, Malfoy was exactly the same as he was that day, pinned beneath Theodore with that maddening, shrewd smirk. But Theodore saw him quite differently. He wasn't the annoying boy he'd grown up with, the reluctant playmate, the "friend" by default. He was perfect, marble skin and comfortingly warm flesh. He was enticing, hot breath and inviting, wet lips. Draco was the physical embodiment of desire – not just a person, but a transcendental flame threatening to consume Theodore. And to his utter horror, he _wanted_ to be consumed. He could feel every soft curve and sharp angle of Draco's body through his form-fitting, white fencing robes as evidently as if they were both naked. Every night their lips came impossibly close, as Theodore lay above him, captivated by Draco's scent and his heat, unable to move. This carnal hunger was coupled with frustration, for their lips never met, no matter how desperately Theodore wanted to kiss him. These dreams were so lucid that he'd wake up with an erection he couldn't ignore, and sometimes he'd wake up with sticky sheets. The shame of this was more humiliating than the fact that Malfoy beat him at fencing. That arrogant little prat was right.

Theodore undoubtedly wanted what he could not have.

The attraction came out of nowhere. It wasn't something that developed over time. It was a desire that lay dormant, waiting to manifest itself once the catalyst became apparent. Theodore wasn't inherently sexual, especially for a teen-aged boy. He'd gone through the motions of puberty with detached apathy, shrugging off the errant erections as a bothersome consequence of reaching adulthood. Nobody ever piqued his interest enough to call it an attraction. Nobody was ever worth (or worthy of) getting a proper hard-on for. He'd never kissed anybody, touched anybody, or even wanked to the thought of anybody specific. Until that moment, Theodore was quite asexual.

It was incredibly suffocating. Theodore never wanted to be a slave to his own carnal desires. That was for horny, dim-witted common people. Not for a soulful intellectual. He hated himself for letting a git like Malfoy affect him this way. It was like his body was acting upon it's own accord, as a separate entity from his rational mind. The more he tried to reason with his mutinous body, the more blatantly it manifested these desires with painfully raging erections that screamed for attention.

It was an irrational desire – one that couldn't be quenched without emotional or life-altering consequences. For one, they were both boys. In the old wizarding families, such as the Notts, it was the duty of pure-blood wizard boys to spawn more pure-blood wizard children to carry on the family name. To be disinterested in this obligation was unthinkable. It was worse than marrying a muggle. All that aside, it was a desire for Malfoy, somebody Theodore never really liked, so much as simply tolerated. They'd been forced together as young children and expected to continue the old allegiances between the Notts and the Malfoys, but otherwise, Theodore found no other reason to associate with him. There wasn't much to like about Malfoy. He was arrogant, a bit of a bully, a spoiled brat, and generally an arsehole with few redeeming characteristics. One admirable thing about Malfoy was that he had a regal air of confidence. Even if it masked an innate insecurity, it was still enviable.

Not to mention, he was beautiful.

Oh, gods, Draco was so bloody gorgeous. Perhaps he'd always known this, but until the day Malfoy touched him, it hadn't quite registered in his mind, or anywhere else for that matter. Theodore hated to admit it, for thinking so reduced him to the likes of Pansy Parkinson, who swooned at every artful smirk, fawned over every smart remark. But unlike Pansy, who seemed to be in love with Draco (or at least with the idea of Draco), that artful smirk inspired a powerful animal attraction that was purely physical.

He just wanted to forget about it. He wanted to go on as if nothing happened, as if Malfoy hadn't awoken his sleeping libido with his maliciously soft caress. Theodore avoided Malfoy for as long as he could. He managed to go most of the summer without seeing him again, fabricating excuses to get out of accompanying his father to Malfoy Manor for his regular meetings with Lucius. He politely declined Narcissa's cordial invitations to tea. But his father recognized that a rift between the boys was growing and warned of the social and familial consequences of letting this divide widen. To placate his father, Theodore relented and came along for another one of his meetings. Of course, Theodore and Draco were not allowed into these meetings between their fathers and their other associates. But they were expected to spend time with each other to keep up appearances and maintain inter-family relations.

This particular meeting was a big one. All the Death Eaters seemed to be in attendance, judging from the number of people arriving at the iron gates of Malfoy Manor. There was a buzz of tense anticipation and excitement in the air that evening. Upon his arrival, Narcissa gave Theodore a blanket and a small citronella candle tin and shooed him out of the house to watch a meteor shower from the Great Lawn. She said Draco was already there waiting for him.

Malfoy was setting him up for either the most humiliating night of his life, or the most blissful. He was bracing himself for the former, but secretly wishing for the latter.

Draco was laying on his back, one leg bent casually at the knee, hands folded on his chest, eyes engaged skyward. Theodore approached gingerly and stood silently, several feet away, clutching the blanket tightly. Draco seemed to glow in the moonlight, a faint halo reflecting off his white-blond head, pale skin radiating softly. His white polo shirt and khaki shorts were as neat and crisp as the manicured lawn he lay atop. A subversive voice inside his head mused that he wanted to render Malfoy's perfectly pressed clothes a crumpled heap on the grass beside him.

"Are you going to just stand there staring at me all night, Nott? I know I'm quite a sight, but the show's up there, not down here," Malfoy drawled, bringing his brass, hand-held telescope to his eye and focusing it at the night sky. Casually, he said, "Venus is unusually bright. It's got this iridescent flash to it." He never took his attention off the heavens as he bade Theodore to join him. "Here, come look."

Theodore spread out his blanket next to Draco's and laid down beside him, feeling his pulse begin to race at their closeness. The other boy had yet to look at him and Theodore feared what his heart would do if those silver eyes met his. Malfoy handed him the telescope, still not regarding him directly. He pointed to the heavens. "Up there. Inside Cassiopeia."

Without looking through the telescope, he spotted the brightest thing in the sky, other than the moon, and focused the telescope on it. "That's not Venus. Planets don't twinkle. And that isn't Cassiopeia; it's Orion," Theodore corrected him blandly, too preoccupied with steadying his breaths to conjure any haughtiness in his voice.

Still, his superior knowledge of astronomy must have annoyed Draco, for he reacted with an expected dismissal. "Whatever. It's all the same. Stars. Planets. Moons. Who bloody cares?"

Theodore remained unaffected as he continued to scan the sky with his eyes. "So when's this meteor shower supposed to happen?"

"Likely never," Draco scoffed. "I bet mum made it up to keep us out of the house."

Theodore mumbled his agreement as he deciphered patterns in the glittering lights above, studying the night sky through the telescope. Keeping his mind busy was probably a good thing, lest it wander to other matters, namely, unresolved issues from their last meeting. But it was inevitable. Both of them must have been thinking about it, for an uncomfortable, tense silence ensued.

The other boy broke the silence first. "What brought you back to me, Nott? I thought I was rid of you once and for all."

Theodore put down the telescope and gave a contemptuous snort, his unaided vision refocusing on the stars. "Believe me, I'm not here by choice."

Malfoy drawled shrewdly, "Au contraire, mon frere. You may have been obliged to come to the manor with your father, but you didn't have to come find me."

"Your mother told me to," Theodore muttered, his face beginning to flush.

"You didn't have to listen to her," the other boy chuckled condescendingly. "Malfoy Manor, as you know very well, has extensive grounds in which one could hide themselves for a few hours. You're here to finish what you started," said the other boy with a smug inflection to his voice.

Theodore scoffed with astonishment, "Finish what _I_ started?" He turned his head to give a smart retort and was met by Malfoy's face within intimate proximity. He had been so preoccupied with the stars that he hadn't noticed that the other boy had inched his way closer. Malfoy's grey eyes bore into him knowingly. Whatever Theodore was going to say swiftly vanished from his mind before it was able to escape his lips.

Malfoy was lying elegantly on his side, head resting on a languidly outstretched arm. He regarded Theodore with his signature smirk – that astute curvature of his pretty mouth that made him weak at the knees as of late. "Save your breath, Theodore. I know what you want." With a lithe finger, Malfoy gently brushed the fringe of Theodore's hair out of his face, ghosting the tip across his forehead, then tracing along his temple, down to his cheek where his hand rested. His smirk eased to a soft grin.

Theodore's body deceived him again. His mouth watered and his whole body tingled with anticipation. His skin flushed with warmth and color. His goddamned, insubordinate cock gave a sudden reply. It was utterly humiliating that Malfoy could affect him this much with a single touch. Theodore's eyes fluttered closed as he inhaled deeply, taking in the intoxicating scent of the night – the freshness of the earthy grass, the sensual sweetness of the citronella candles, and the unmistakable essence of the boy before him that could only be described as rich. If he had to explain it with more words, Theodore could say Draco smelled crisp, refined, and clean. He let go of the breath slowly, savoring the sensory delight, exhaling as a shuddering sigh.

Then Malfoy's thumb grazed over Theodore's parted lips – this was his ultimate undoing. He had been dreaming about this moment, fantasizing about it unwillingly for weeks. The desire that he'd been suppressing inside him could not be contained any longer. Theodore snatched Malfoy's hand from his face, grasping him possessively by the wrist, and pressed his mouth against the other boy's lips. The electric sensation of their lips finally meeting after nights of frustrating dreams was overwhelming. He kissed him wetly, threatening to devour Draco whole, tasting everything the other boy's lips had recently touched – spiced apple cider, chocolate biscuits, peppermint sticks. He was completely lost in the feel and taste and scent of Draco that it took him several long seconds to realize, with a horror so awful that it felt like a punch to the stomach, Draco was not kissing back. He lay perfectly still and unaffected. Malfoy wasn't even shocked.

Theodore stopped and backed away, his eyes flashing open and blinking to focus. "What are you doing?"

Malfoy intoned arrogantly, "I don't know, Nott. What the fuck are _you_ doing?"

Had Theodore really misinterpreted Malfoy that much? Or had Draco done this on purpose to humiliate him? It was more likely the latter. His face contorted to one of utter contempt as he spat, "You're a fucking arsehole, Malfoy." He scrambled to his feet and stomped away, striding intently towards nowhere, cursing and fuming. Theodore was so furious with himself that he cried angry, self-loathing tears.

He found himself at the lake that served as the southern border of the Malfoy estate. He sat on the little boat dock that jutted out over the water, clutching his legs to him, still crying like a pathetic little boy. As he stared blankly at the reflection of the sky on the still surface of the lake, he berated himself silently for falling so hard for Malfoy's cruel ruse. A rustling in the grass startled him. He wiped his eyes and steeled his expression as Draco strode up behind him. Theodore didn't dare turn around to face him. He spat out before Draco could get in a snarky word, "I don't want to fucking hear it, Malfoy. Just tell me this. Why?"

Malfoy replied smugly, "Because I can."


	3. Reticence

"Persistence"

By Stacy Galore

Chapter 3: Reticence

Theodore sat at his usual table at a small café down the street from his flat in London. He spent most of his time here, rather than at home, writing and chain-smoking, sipping on various incarnations of caffeinated beverages. Today was like so many others. The world would disappear around him as he sank deeper into the pages of his journal, scrawling poetry, expelling his thoughts for the day, or scribbling down story ideas. If he had work, he'd spend hours there, his fingers clattering feverishly across the keyboard of his laptop computer. You see, Theodore was a freelance writer, but he was only known as such in the muggle world. So it was here, in the muggle café, that one could regularly find him. But the thing is, Theodore didn't want to be found. Not by anybody in the wizarding world, at least.

So it came as quite a shock when a familiar blond-haired man walked through the door and sat down on the bright side of the café at a table in front of the picture window. Theodore preferred to sit in the darker, cozier end of the café where he could concentrate on writing with little distraction. The blond young man took off his grey blazer, rolled up the sleeves of his crisp, white shirt, and smoothed down his silk necktie, indicating he intended on staying a while. The courteous waitress, whom Theodore knew as Elsie, came up to the blond and offered to hang his wool coat on the rack – it was on the seat in front of him, looking too expensive to be draped over the back of a rickety, wooden chair like that. Before relinquishing his coat, the blond pulled out a rolled-up newspaper from the pocket and placed an order with a charming smile. Elsie blushed. What girl wouldn't react to an alluring grin like that - a smile that made one think it was meant just for you? He relaxed into his seat and opened the paper, obscuring his face. But Theodore didn't need a second look to connect a name with the face. Reading the Daily Prophet at Café Novus Ars was none other than Draco Malfoy.

All Theodore could see now was the very top of Malfoy's head, his blond hair illuminated by the sun shining through the window behind him, giving the illusion of a glowing aura. Theodore knew that Draco's presence was not a coincidence. For one, this was a muggle café, and, from what he remembered, Malfoy did not patronize non-wizarding business if he could help it. Besides that, men dressed like bankers did not just stroll into this café off the street. It was in a decidedly bohemian part of town, in an area where artists had just begun to breathe new life into the once drug-ridden streets with restaurants and galleries. Though signs of gentrification were evident, the neighborhood was still rather seedy in spots. A man like Malfoy wouldn't be caught dead in a place like this, where the proprietor, Magdalena (or Magda, as Theodore called her), had wild dreadlocks, arms completely decorated with tattoos, and a face full of piercings.

Malfoy could only be there for one thing – to find him. But he sat there, quite comfortable with his paper and coffee, with no apparent signs that he was indeed looking for somebody. He made no indication that he recognized Theodore, even though he was in plain sight, sitting just feet away – the arrogant prat was waiting for Theodore to come to him. Not bloody likely. The two of them sat in the café for a good part of an hour, both too proud to acknowledge the other's presence with even so much as a glance. Theodore didn't need to look at Malfoy. He could feel his presence from across the room, feel it stirring up old emotions he thought had been long dead. It was completely overwhelming and he almost walked out of there. But he didn't want to give the other man that satisfaction. This was Theodore's territory he'd infringed upon after all. Eventually, Malfoy folded up his paper and walked out of the café, managing to completely skip over Theodore with his eyes.

The next day, Theodore walked into the café at his usual time, stopping at the counter to greet Magda with a peck on each cheek as he'd done for years. After idle chit chat, Magda nodded her head towards somebody in the room and whispered, "Get a load of Mr. Posh Pants over there. Second time he's been in here this week." Theodore casually turned his head to catch an inconspicuous glance, though he already knew whom she was speaking of. Malfoy was sitting at the same table by the window, this time the paper was folded neatly on the table and his eyes cast down upon it. Magda continued with a snort, "Bet he's one of those real estate blokes who buys up small businesses to build fancy apartment buildings. Gentrification, my arse."

Theodore nodded, playing along, not letting on that he actually knew the identity of Mr. Posh Pants. "You won't sell though, right Magda?"

"Of course not. Business is slowing down, but I'm not too worried. With the amount of time you've spent here writing, I should get royalties from every book sold," she joked.

Theodore joked back. "Isn't it enough that you're getting free advertising? I mean, I could have changed the name of the café in the book, but I kept it."

Magda rolled her eyes and replied sarcastically, "Right. The customers are just pouring in, now that your book has made the New York Times Best Seller list."

Theodore reassured her with a smile, "Things will pick up. Winter is coming and people need their hot cocoa."

"You're a doll, Theodore," Magda said with a pat on the cheek. "I've no idea why some lucky bloke hasn't snatched you up by now."

Theodore shrugged with a cheeky grin. "Don't know. I think I am quite lucky."

"Indeed. You're the last of the Famous International Playboys." She shook her finger at him. "But one day you'll wake up old and completely alone and you'll wish you'd settled down with somebody."

"I doubt it, Mags," he chuckled, "Who could possibly tolerate me for a lifetime, let alone a long-term relationship?"

"You think you're alright on your own now, but one day you'll want somebody to take care of you. Now, I'm not saying you should find a girl, have a sham marriage, and make pretty babies. All I'm saying is… well… it's nice knowing you have somebody who's always there for you."

Theodore sighed. "Perhaps that day will come. But I'm twenty-four. I've got time."

"A bit. But maybe you should start picking your bed-fellows based on stability rather than on looks alone." She nodded towards Malfoy again and lowered her voice. "Take Mr. Posh Pants, for instance. He's a pretty fellow. Judging by his impeccable fashion sense, I'd say he plays for your team. And he looks stable. Well, financially, at least."

"And you say _I'm_ shallow," Theodore scoffed with a chuckle.

"Come on, Theodore. What have you got to lose?" she nudged him playfully.

If only she knew that he'd already taken a chance on that man, about ten years ago when they were still boys, believing he had nothing to lose, only to have everything thrown back in his face. After that incident at Malfoy Manor, Theodore wasn't quite the same. He retreated into a dark shell, enshrouded in self-doubt and self-depreciation. He'd lost his sense of self at a point in his life when he was just forming an identity. And it took him years of internal struggle, heartache, and a journey around the world to find himself again. He wrote down every detail in his journal, from that ill-fated meeting of lips, to the imprisonment of his father, to the death of his grandmother and his subsequent abandonment of the wizarding world just prior to the war. He translated it all into a fictional novel, minus the references to magic, and published it for muggle readers, garnering international acclaim.

This is how Malfoy must have found him. In the years after the war, the wizarding world began to intermingle with the muggle world a bit more. It was just a matter of time before old school mates caught wind of Theodore's achievement. He changed the names in his novel, but anyone from his past could easily recognize themselves in the pages, such was his gift for painting accurate characterizations. The protagonist of the story, a young man named Kieran Tate, spent a lot of time in Café Novus Ars.

Magda suggested with a quirk of her pierced eyebrow, "Shall I send him something sweet courtesy of you?"

Theodore shook his head with a resigned sigh. "That won't be necessary, Mags. But thanks." With that, he took his place in the dim corner of the café and opened his journal to a new page. He lit a cigarette, took a cleansing drag, and poised his pen to the paper, staring at it blankly as the words organized themselves in his mind.

_November 18, 2005_

_I spent nearly half my life running from him, hiding from him, struggling to erase the scar he'd placed upon my flesh and on my soul. Just as I was beginning to take control of my life, to take the reins out of the hands of History, Fate reclaims them and steers me back to the course I'd fought so hard to veer from. _

_The more I try to forget him and the more I try to live independently of the hold he has on my heart, the more entrenched I am in the track he's made for me. And all roads lead to him. _

_To Draco Malfoy._

_A/N: Pretty sure the café idea was Jenniffer's (Draco's coffee addiction is definitely hers), so I'm giving her credit. Theodore-as-Tortured-Artist might be both Jenniffer and Daniel's idea as well._


	4. Correspondence

"Persistence"

By Stacy Galore

Chapter 4: Correspondence

"From the blond gentleman sitting by the window," said Elsie, her rosy cheeks and bright eyes beaming, as she placed a dish in front of Theodore. Upon the dish was a warm chocolate croissant. He looked up to find Draco looking his way – not staring intently, but casually gazing in his general direction. When their eyes met, Draco gave a slight smile and a curt nod. Theodore returned only the nod.

"By the way, I hate you, Theodore," the waitress added with a giggle, then bent down to whisper, eyeing the young man sitting across the cafe. "Hottest piece of arse that's walked in here in ages."

Theodore teased, "No, that title belongs to you, my dear" as he made a show of smacking her rear end, to which she responded with an emphatic eye-roll and a friendly elbow to the arm. Malfoy scratched the back of his neck and averted his eyes, the faint smile disappearing from his face. "Thank him for me, won't you?" Theodore said, capturing her chin with a gentle hand.

"You mean you won't thank him yourself?" Her voice matched her scandalized expression.

"My attention can't be bought with sweets," he declared with haughtiness intended for Malfoy rather than for her, even though he was far enough away that the other man couldn't hear him.

"You're ridiculous," Elsie said, shaking her head with disbelief. "More hot arse for the rest of us lonely girls then," she chuckled.

Though Theodore did have a weak spot for all things chocolate, especially warm things, he let the uneaten croissant grow cold on the plate as he smoked a cigarette, sipped his mochaccino, and scribbled in his journal, never giving Malfoy a second glance. He wasn't going to approach Draco, no matter what the man did to invoke him. It was harder this time, ignoring Malfoy. Now that they'd acknowledged each other's presence, it became difficult to pretend that Draco wasn't watching him, and that Theodore wasn't doing the same. He wasn't hiding behind his paper this time – Draco _wanted_ Theodore to look. He couldn't help but steal glances from behind his coffee cup each time he took a sip. Soon, he found himself staring.

The last few times he'd seen Malfoy were at funerals immediately after the war, almost seven years ago. There were too many of those. Back then, Draco looked lanky and pallid; an empty shell compared to how regal he'd looked just two years prior.

Time had been exceptionally good to Draco and seemed to erase the stain of war. His platinum blond hair was no longer plastered against his head. Instead, it was artfully tousled and peppered with golden brown highlights that brought a warmth to his skin which he'd lacked as a child. The gaunt lines and sharp angles of his body gave way to sculpted curves, accentuated by his perfectly tailored suit. Draco's face revealed little, if anything, of what he'd been through as a Death Eater. He had the look of a seraph fallen from heaven to cavort with the demons of hell – angelic and flawless, with a devious quirk to his brow and a sly twist to the corner of his mouth. And his eyes – oh gods, those silver eyes which could devastate armies with their penetrating stare – they were impossibly more expressive than Theodore remembered. This was the Malfoy who'd inspired Theodore's sexual awakening, now aged to perfection.

Theodore pressed another cigarette to his lips to keep from gaping at Draco. Shit, he felt pathetic, like a swooning schoolgirl all over again. He felt exposed and vulnerable. No doubt Malfoy had read his book and learned of every significant twist and turn, every one-night-stand and failed relationship, every hidden emotion and suppressed desire of Theodore's life in the past twenty-four years, concealed in the events of Kieran Tate's story. Perhaps that's why Malfoy was here – to find out just how closely Kieran's life mirrored Theodore's.

An agonizing fifteen minutes passed before Malfoy heaved a dramatic, bored sigh. Theodore glanced up, expressionless, and watched him walk out of the café. "Self-centered prat," he grumbled to himself.

The following day, Theodore contemplated avoiding the café, but decided he wouldn't let Malfoy affect him anymore. He wouldn't change his routine for Malfoy. He recalled bitterly how, beginning in their fifth year of Hogwarts, Theodore would wake up obscenely early and go to bed very late just to avoid seeing Draco in the dorm room.

Theodore entered the café, eyes cast downward, cigarette pressed tight between his lips. He was relieved (though somewhat disappointed) to find it devoid of the blond man who'd become a regular fixture there. He sat down at his table and found a tiny envelope, "For: Kieran Tate" written on the front in neat, loopy script. Puzzled, Theodore quickly turned it over and opened it. Inside was a folded white card made of expensive looking paper. Embossed on the cover were the initials "DTM". Theodore hesitated before flipping open the card, taking a deep drag off his cigarette.

_Dear Kieran,_

_Ignoring me only makes you look bitter. Still harboring ill feelings? Do yourself a favor and let it go._

_Sincerely,_

_Alex_

The corner of Theodore's mouth curved around his cigarette, forming an amused smirk. How clever of Draco to communicate with him by role-playing the character he inspired – Alexander Moreau. Alex played a large role in Theodore's book, namely because of the impact he had on Keiran's life, though he rarely made a physical appearance in the story. He quickly scribbled down a reply on a sheet of paper ripped from his journal, shaking his head incredulously, mumbling, "Still such an arsehole after all these years." That stubborn little shit couldn't confront him directly and had to hide behind a fictional character to speak to Theodore. He made a half-arsed attempt at offering an olive branch via a chocolate croissant. Sure, it was slightly flattering that Draco spoke through a character Theodore wrote, but it was clear that the missive was coming from him, and meant for Theodore. He was just too proud, and perhaps too emotionally inept, to use their real names. Theodore played along, now thoroughly amused. He wrote a note using Kieran's voice and left it for Magda to relay it to Draco, should he return. And Theodore was fairly certain that he would.

_Alex,_

_In case you haven't noticed, I've moved on ages ago. It's obvious by your presence here that you're the one who is having difficulty letting go._

_- Kieran._

Theodore left the note with Magda. The next day, Magda handed him another little, white envelope.

"Did he say anything to you?" Asked Theodore, as he took the envelope and tore it open without hesitation. Magda shook her head. "Did he read my letter here?" Magda nodded. "And?"

"Nothing. No reaction. Couldn't gage his expression. He just read it, sat down at the counter, and had a quick coffee while he wrote this one," said Magda, inclining her head towards the little card. She watched Theodore as he read Draco's reply. "So he's an old school mate of yours, you said? I don't understand why you two can't just talk to each other like normal people."

Distractedly as he read the note, Theodore said, "Draco Malfoy is not a normal person."

Magda scoffed, "With a name like that, one would expect it."

The letter read:

_Dear Kieran,_

_To say that I have let go would imply that I actually held on to something. Truth be told, I let go before I even had anything in my grasp. _

_Sincerely,_

_Alex_

This was becoming infuriating. Draco's notes were maddeningly reticent and cryptic. Malfoy had let go of what, exactly? Was it his hatred for Theodore? Clearly, this hadn't been the case. At school, Draco's silence was more hurtful than anything he could have said. True, Theodore made a point to avoid Malfoy, but the other boy made a concerted effort to publicly snub him whenever he could. When their fathers went to Azkaban after the Department of Mysteries fiasco, it put an end to Theodore and Draco's summer familial obligations to one another. The two didn't see much of each other after that. But when they did interact, Draco was cold to the point of being icily debasing. Whereas once they had been equals, Theodore was no different to Draco than a mudblood or a blood-traitor.

Theodore's reply notes were becoming more dismissive and angry in their tone, the pen digging deeply into the paper with spite.

_Alex,_

_Isn't it sufficient that you inflicted me with enough pain to last nearly a decade? _

_When I was 16, I turned my back and ran from everything and everyone that had been forced upon me from birth, and with good reason. You and your supremacist ideals bred nothing but hatred and self-doubt, destroying friendships and alliances that took generations to build. _

_Why do you feel the need to chase me down just to pour salt into wounds that have already healed? _

_I've found myself. I'm finally content with who I am. I suggest you leave me in peace to go seek your own serenity._

_- Kieran_

Draco's response the next day was his most revealing letter yet. Frankly, Draco's depth surprised him.

_Dear Kieran,_

_You may have stopped running, content with the person you've become, satisfied that you've escaped the demons that haunted you your whole life. But you've never really confronted those demons. So though you say you've found peace, you have never truly found closure. Until then, you'll forever be running from the truth._

_When you're ready to stop running, I'll be here._

_Sincerely,_

_Alex_

Who the hell did Draco think he was? Setting aside the fact that they hadn't spoken in years, Draco never really knew Theodore to begin with. Did Draco honestly think he could read Theodore's book and assume he understood the inner workings of his psyche? Theodore stubbed out his cigarette and tapped his pen to his lips, deep in thought. After several refills of coffee and many discarded long-winded drafts heralding Alex's arrogance and professing Keiran's transcendence, Theodore finally settled on a laconic missive.

_Alex,_

_Give me a reason to stop running, and I'll consider it. _

_Kieran_

That afternoon, Theodore left Café Novus Ars to run a few errands around town, finding tranquility in the banal, allowing the colorful buzz of the neighborhood to take his mind off of Draco and his cryptic message. He would have kept on walking right through until the evening, had it not begun to rain. Theodore didn't have an umbrella. He kept his head down as the light drizzle covered him in a fine mist that dampened his hair.

When he arrived at the front door to his flat, head still pointed to the pavement, fumbling for his keys, Theodore found a pair of impeccably polished shoes standing in the doorway. His eyes shot upwards to meet Draco with a look of desperation in his silver stare, not dampened at all by the rain. The rain fell off him in glistening beads as if he were made entirely of wax.

Before Theodore could muse about the cleverness of Draco's spell, the other man seized him by the collar and said, the same desperation from his eyes trembling through his voice, "I'm giving you a reason to stop running."

Then Draco pressed his lips to Theodore's, unleashing years of unspoken desire and suppressed lust in one breathless, ravenous kiss. He let Draco take control of the kiss, reluctant to return his passion, fearful that if he showed any sign of eagerness, the other man would pull away and humiliate him all over again. A mistrusting, rational voice at the back of his mind screamed at Theodore to push Draco away. As Draco's hands on Theodore's collar relaxed and moved to hold his face gently, that voice faded. As the rain began to fall in earnest, Theodore found himself yielding to Draco, letting his guard fall to the puddle of rain upon which they stood.

The kiss was simultaneously wonderful and upsetting, full of passion and sorrow. To Theodore's surprise, burning on Draco's lips was the taste of years of fruitless yearning – familiar and bittersweet. It felt like he was being stabbed in the gut while his stomach was filled with butterflies. How could he do this to him now, just when Theodore was sure he had fully recovered from the despair left in Draco's wake? Theodore shivered from both the cold dampness and the overwhelming juxtaposition of emotions. It took him years to build a shield around himself, to protect against heartbreak, and now Draco was destroying the shield with one kiss. The rain streaming down his face masked the tears that began to fall, but he was sure Draco could taste the brackishness as he lapped softly at Theodore's lips.

Theodore drew back slightly, gazed into Draco's disarmingly penetrative eyes and implored, voice unsteady from the ache in his heart, "Why?"

Draco's stare never broke as he answered, "Because ten years ago, I couldn't," then pulled Theodore in for another kiss.

_A/N: There are two more chapters after this one. As soon as they're beta'd, I'll post them. The reference to pouring salt on wounds is credited to Jenniffer._


	5. Culmination

"Persistence"

By Stacy Galore

_A/N: The previous chapters hardly warranted the Adult+ rating. This chapter does. _

Chapter 5: Culmination

Theodore's flat was a large loft studio with vaulted ceilings. Most of the other tenants in the building were artists that lived and worked in the open, bright spaces. Theodore felt it was important to patronize his neighbors, as was evident by the paintings and photographs adorning his walls. There were shelves displaying sculptures, decorative items, and artifacts, some acquired from the neighborhood, but most collected from Theodore's varied travels around the world. His flat was a reflection of the diversity of his adventures. A rustic, hand-carved, wooden idol from a tiny Philippine mountain village sat beside an antique, Art Deco, Lalique bud vase from Alsace. One week he'd find himself hiking on remote wilderness trails with hardcore back-packers and the next week, he'd be rubbing elbows with the social elite at a swanky party in a bustling metropolis.

He'd been everywhere from Mumbai to Melbourne, from Cape Town to Capri, all in the name of self-discovery. Along the way, he traveled with, and encountered, a wide assortment of personalities - some he connected with deeply, others left hardly a blip on his memory. After the adventures would end, more often than not, so would the association. Theodore had difficulty sustaining relationships, both of the romantic sort and of the friendly type. He never trusted anyone to get close enough to form a lasting bond.

This was akin to the defense mechanism he learned as a boy through fencing. Never let your opponent get close enough to hurt you. But it didn't always work, as was evident by the scar that remained.

"It's still there," said Draco, a slight smile curving his lips, as his slender finger skimmed along the pale line marring Theodore's torso.

Theodore's usual defense tactic, in addition to any protective measures, had been abandoned. A trail of his wet clothing lined the floor from the front door to his bed, where he now sat, reclining against the headboard, allowing Draco to pull up his rain-soaked tee shirt.

"Scars fade, but never go away," replied Theodore, watching Draco's finger trace his scar, feeling his skin tingle at the slight touch. "Especially the scars one cannot see on the surface." He lifted his gaze just as Draco glanced up and their eyes locked in mutual understanding for several silent seconds.

Draco's eyes fell again as he began to speak, his words coming forth in hesitant spurts like a confession. "My whole life I've been nothing but ineffectual, trying to leave some sort of lasting mark on the world, to no avail." He looked up to regard Theodore with his penetrative stare. "Then I read your book, and I realized I _have_ made an impact somewhere." Then Draco said, nearly whispering, "I've never been able to affect anybody as much as I have affected you, Theodore."

Theodore should have known there was a malicious, selfish, ulterior motive behind Draco's advances. "And you're proud of this? Leaving an irreparable mark on me?" asked Theodore, his tone tinged with hurt.

Draco shook his head slowly and murmured. "No. I'm incredibly touched."

"That's fantastic, Malfoy," said Theodore sarcastically, as he straightened his posture and pulled his shirt down. "I'm glad you feel moved by your ability to hurt me so much."

Draco shook his head more emphatically. "Do you honestly believe I was able to walk away from what happened between us completely unaffected?"

Theodore bristled, his brow furrowed. "You sure acted like it."

Draco sighed somberly and leaned forward to press his forehead against Theodore's, raking his fingers through his hair. "Theodore, what did you expect?"

Theodore withdrew, growing wearier by the second.

Draco explained as Theodore refused to look at him. "At the time, what we wanted was impossible, and you bloody well know it. I may have called you a coward. But in reality, _I_ was the one too afraid to pursue my true desire. And when I discovered, after all this time, it affected you as much as it did me, I knew I had to find you."

Theodore gave a resigned, hopeless sigh. "What good will it do to rehash the past? We're different people now. We've moved on."

"Don't tell me you don't feel anything right now," said Draco, reaching out a hand to rest on Theodore's chest, his eyes boring into him again.

Theodore shrugged reticently and averted his gaze.

"Please don't," Draco implored weakly. Theodore could tell it pained the other man greatly to open himself up this much. Draco's voice was desperate and wavering. "Maybe _you_ don't need closure. But _I_ do." He slid his hand up to gently grasp the side of Theodore's neck and closed the distance between their lips.

Unlike the feverishly passionate kisses they'd shared moments ago, this kiss was different. It was gentle and intimately affectionate. Theodore thought a kiss like this was impossible, coming from Draco. He thought the other man's commanding touch had been disarming, but the sincerity of emotion conveyed in this kiss obliterated his defenses.

Theodore whispered against Draco's lips. "How?"

Draco's answer was a both a desperate plea and a wanton command. "We finish what we started ten years ago."

Theodore didn't need to verbalize his agreement. His kiss was an ardent declaration of consent.

Draco managed to disengage their lips long enough to execute his earlier intention of ridding Theodore of his shirt. Now he was down to just his black underwear, while Draco remained mostly clothed, with his necktie discarded and his white shirt unbuttoned. Theodore found this imbalance of power unsettling, but Draco's hands put him at ease as they traveled slowly down his chest with his lips following close behind, lingering at Theodore's neck. Theodore shuddered from the fulfillment of an ancient yearning to feel Draco's touch upon his bare skin, unencumbered by clothing. Draco had set Theodore's nerve-endings ablaze with an overwhelming palate of sensations, both familiar and novel. The crispness of Draco's clean scent brought back a sharp memory of lying beneath the stars together as young teenagers. A distinctly masculine aroma, acquired with maturity, now supplemented this enticing smell, fueling Theodore's desire.

Draco's mouth burned a trail of hungry, biting kisses down Theodore's chest, searing his way to the scar on his side. The heat of his breath sent an electric thrill up Theodore's spine as Draco's lips brushed along the pallid line, retracing the path that his sabre excavated ten years ago. The pain emerged anew, welling up from a place deeper than the flesh below the mark. It was a pleasurable agony, representing every year of suppressed, unfulfilled desire. Theodore bit the corner of his bottom lip to stifle a blissful whimper.

He composed himself enough to confess, "You've marked me, Draco. For eternity."

Draco was beyond the point of modesty and shamelessly moaned, his lips still close enough to brush against sensitive skin, "Fucking hell, Theodore. You've no idea how that makes me feel." He drew his tongue along Theodore's scar before closing his mouth wetly upon it.

Theodore could ascertain from the way Draco was reverently kissing his scar that he ultimately did not regret what he'd done. By marking Theodore, Draco had unknowingly claimed him, both body and soul. He always belonged to Draco, regardless of how detached they were in space and time. Only now did Theodore recognize the magic that Draco had unwittingly imbued into his skin when he wounded him, not out of hatred, but out of purest desire. From the moment Draco cut him (and perhaps even earlier) a love was born of blood and unfulfilled yearning – a love they both suppressed so diligently that it was never realized. As a boy, Theodore had been blinded by the hatred that came more naturally. It was easier to hate Draco than to justify falling in love with somebody so arrogant and cruel.

Theodore responded with a sharp intake of breath, crumpling a handful of the back of the other man's shirt in his fist, prompting its swift removal. He flinched slightly at the sight of The Dark Mark marring the otherwise flawless skin of Draco's left arm. It reminded Theodore exactly where he'd come from – a world so different from the one in which he now resided - and how his roots were deeply embedded with and connected to Draco's.

Before Theodore could help him out of his undershirt, Draco's mouth descended to the unblemished skin below the scar. He hooked his fingers into the elastic waistband of Theodore's underwear and pulled it down slowly, kissing each new expanse of flesh revealed, from his hipbone to his thigh. Theodore's burgeoning cock brushed against Draco's flushed cheek, causing Theodore to recoil slightly, afraid that this had been an unintentional trespass. This was quite the contrary.

Draco turned his face to graze Theodore's growing need with his parted lips, moving agonizingly slow from the base to the tip. He curled his long fingers around it and began to stroke it leisurely, his mouth poised over the head teasingly. Theodore watched avidly, his hands clenched around the bed sheets beneath him in tense anticipation. It was clear, from Draco's deliberate motions that he was not a novice at this. Theodore drank in the unbelievable sight of his hardened length sliding easily between Draco's perfect lips. He dared not close his eyes, fearful that this would all dematerialize as a dream when he opened them again. He brushed back Draco's blond fringe with his fingers to unveil the man's face as he ardently worshiped Theodore's cock with his beautiful mouth.

When the sight became too much to bear, Theodore's eyes reluctantly closed as he tilted his head back and moaned rapturously. "Oh gods, Draco. This can't possibly be real."

How was this possible? How could the man, who had routinely berated him as a boy, really be taking every engorged inch of his cock so fervently, with no reservation or spite? How could someone, who had so cruelly rejected him in the past, readily accept the physical embodiment of his desire as if it were the elixir of life – enthusiastically and with an insatiable thirst? It had to be Malfoy haunting him in another lucid dream; a dream prompted by his mysterious return into Theodore's life.

Draco affirmed the reality of it all by increasing his pace, his blond head now bowing repeatedly in silent prayer over Theodore's lap. No dream could make Theodore feel this way – overwhelmed with pleasure, aching with lust. In the absence of sight, Theodore could sense every nuance of Draco's mouth as it enveloped him in moist warmth – the way his tongue seemed to cradle his shaft as it traveled upwards, the way his wet lips gripped every ridge. He gasped with delight as the other man's teeth gently grazed his hardness. No man or woman had ever made Theodore feel this good. Perhaps it was the bitterness of their history that made this moment so sweet. Theodore's release was precariously close, but he didn't want it to end. He clenched his hand into Draco's hair and whispered breathily between gasps, "Stop… I can't. . . Don't want to. . ."

Draco disengaged his mouth from Theodore, his hand still grasping the base of his erection, and looked up, smirking. "You don't _really_ want me to stop." He gave his cock a few slow, teasing jerks. "What are you afraid of, Theodore?"

"The end," Theodore answered, his voice rough with desire.

The blond man raised an eyebrow. "The end?" He gave a low chuckle, his smirk turning deviously sexy. "This is just the beginning."

Draco released Theodore's cock, letting him heave a sigh of relief as the tension waned just slightly enough for Theodore to catch his breath. Draco repositioned himself above Theodore, moving gracefully nimble like a predatory creature. He was now on his knees, straddling Theodore at the hips. Theodore marveled at Draco as he crossed his arms over his torso, curled his fingers around the hem of his undershirt, and pulled it up slowly to reveal the perfectly toned body beneath. Draco was fit, but not overtly muscular, his abdomen gently sculpted – exactly how Theodore preferred his men. He was Theodore's first desire, to which he measured everyone else that followed. Nobody ever compared.

Draco knew he was beautiful. But there was something endearing about how he felt it necessary to make a spectacle of undressing, as if Theodore needed to be tempted – Draco's close proximity alone had been enough to give him an erection. He had to credit the man for bothering to make an effort. So even though it went without saying, Theodore confessed, "You are the most beautiful thing I've ever seen," as he ran his hands up Draco's bared torso, their eyes locked in mutual desire.

Theodore craned his neck to kiss the smile spreading across Draco's lips, his perfectly aligned teeth bared. Draco mused, "That's saying a lot, if your book is any indication of your real-life conquests."

Theodore giggled and nipped playfully at Draco's bottom lip. "What are you implying, Malfoy?"

Draco drawled, still with a teasing tone, "For someone who had once swore he was intellectually above the need for sex, you've had an awful lot of it. And to say I'm the most beautiful of your lovers is a great compliment, considering how many you've had."

Amused, Theodore quirked his eyebrow. "Are you calling me a slut?"

Draco cocked his head to the side. "Perhaps." The corner of Draco's charming smile bent into a lascivious smirk. "Let's test that theory, shall we?"

Their lips met again in breathless passion, tongues meticulously exploring each other's mouths, fingers tangling into rustled hair. Soon they had worked themselves into another frenzy, both fumbling with the closures of Draco's trousers in a desperate attempt to unleash the throbbing desire within. With his trousers pushed down to his knees, Draco stopped, kneeling above Theodore, his head inclined slightly in a cocky stance. He regarded Theodore with his ravenous stare as his fingers traced the outline of his cock, which was stretching his underwear taut, a blotch of pre-come bleeding through the heather grey cotton.

"Tell me what you want," said Theodore as he looked up at him with devotion and lust.

"I want to inspire you, the same way I did when I was fifteen." Draco's silver eyes were ablaze with a desperate need.

These eyes alone could inspire composers to create sonatas, painters to produce masterpieces, armies to slaughter thousands, all in Draco's name. In Theodore, they aroused unparalleled passion and devastating sorrow; such was the depth of Draco's stare. Some would describe his grey eyes as cold, but an astute observer could read them, and thus the soul that lay beneath. Theodore thought he was adept at reading Draco's eyes, but it was evident that Draco had always been a master of deception, never revealing his hidden desires.

Kneeling there, half naked, his cock barely restrained behind tight cloth, Draco could incite riots. He could make angels forsake Heaven for the taste of his flesh. Draco hooked his thumbs into the top of his underwear and pulled it down, allowing just the reddened head of his cock to peek through. Theodore was fit to burst, quite literally, all over his chest. He slid down the headboard to rest his back on the bed, his head propped up by a pile of pillows, watching Draco's maddeningly unhurried strip tease, as his hand wandered down to his own aching erection.

"You inspire me more than ever," said Theodore as he took Draco by the hip with his free hand and guided him forward.

He let his parted lips glide over the head of Draco's cock, his tongue slipping out to lap at the glistening dollop weeping from the slit. The taste of his come was enough to spark a raging inferno. He moaned, eyes rolling to the back of his head as the lids fell. Then he wrenched Draco's underwear down, freeing his raging hard-on. He guided it with a firm grasp towards his mouth and enveloped it vehemently, sucking it slowly with an almost violent intensity, savoring every inch until his lips were red and his jaw ached. Draco mirrored Theodore's enthusiasm by taking him resolutely by the back of the head and fucking his mouth, slowly rocking his hips forward.

Intoxicated by Draco's distinctive scent and flavor, Theodore lost himself in servitude, becoming dizzy from the slight asphyxiation of having his mouth utterly occupied. Addicted to the inexplicable sensation, high on the idea of Draco Malfoy's cock in his mouth, Theodore urged the other man impossibly deeper. He pulled Draco's hips towards him until the fine tuft of his hair brushed the tip of his nose. Theodore yearned for more intimacy, for Draco to plunge so deep that he became a part of him, and he a part of Draco.

Surely, Draco sensed Theodore's desperation. It was clear that this elation was mutual, as indicated by Draco's wanton moans and delighted gasps, as well as the eager thrusts of his hips. In perhaps a cruel demonstration of his power and control over Theodore, Draco withdrew from his mouth, leaving him feeling empty and even more desperate for closeness. Draco sat upon him, bringing their erections together, as he arched against him and took Theodore's face with his hands in a possessive kiss. Though Theodore was still breathless, panting into Draco's mouth, he wrapped his lanky arms around the other man's lithe body and pulled him so close that his lungs barely had room to expand. Yet Theodore would rather pass out from oxygen deprivation than let go of Draco or stop him from devouring his already-chaffed lips.

Draco paused to growl softly in Theodore's ear, "Do you want me, Theodore?" It was both an inquiry and a provocation.

Theodore would not have hesitated to say yes, had it not been for the persistent fear of rejection tugging at his gut – that instinctual reflex to run before an imprint could be left on his heart.

So he parried with another question, expressing his reluctance. "What if I do?"

Draco replied, his fluidly sensual voice both imploring and seductive, "I assure you, it won't be like last time. Just tell me, Theodore." He forced the issue further, pressing his cock into Theodore's lap. "Do you want me?"

Theodore's body arched up, yearning for friction between their erections. His answer was a shuddering, affirmative sigh. "Yes."

Draco sat up, lifting off Theodore, leaving him cold and wanting. He reached down to grasp Theodore's cock and commanded, with both his silver eyes and persuasive voice, "Tell me."

Theodore thrust gently into Draco's hand like a needy whore, panting, digging his fingers into Draco's thighs. "I want you, Draco. I have always wanted you."

He didn't know if this was the consent that Draco needed to take things further. He also didn't quite know exactly what he was consenting to. It really didn't matter to Theodore, so long as their bodies were attached in some way. This is not to say that Theodore was unscrupulous or indiscriminate – He was simply so desperate to have him that Theodore would take Draco in any way he could.

Still, Theodore did not expect what Draco said next and was quite taken aback.

"Fuck me, Theodore."

It wasn't a question. It wasn't a plea. It was a directive that left no room for disobedience.

Theodore was so stunned that he stopped. Did Draco Malfoy actually tell _Theodore_ to fuck _him_? Draco's abrasively domineering personality did not lead one to assume he'd bottom for anybody. He shook his head with disbelief. "Excuse me, did I hear you correctly?"

Draco rested a hand on his hip, tilted his head to the side, and drawled, "Are you going deaf, Nott, or are you losing your nerve?"

He looked almost exactly the way he did that one time Draco beat him at fencing – _"That, my friend, was most definitely a valid touch." _

He bent down and purred against Theodore's lips, lapping at them between phrases. "I clearly… told you… to fuck me." Draco righted himself, licked his thumb, then fisted Theodore's cock, swirling the wetness over the head. "Don't you bloody tease me, Theodore." He inched his body forward slightly so that their bodies were perfectly aligned for penetration. Draco reached behind himself to reclaim Theodore's cock, stroking it enticingly.

Theodore shook his head as he uttered plaintively, "I want to, but I couldn't take it again if things ended the way they did back then."

Then Draco's arrogance melted away. He pulled Theodore's face to his chest and held him in an embrace – a gesture of compassion just as unlikely as Draco wanting Theodore to top him. "It won't," He assured him as he rested his cheek on the top of Theodore's head. "We won't hurt each other anymore."

Theodore could hear Draco's heartbeat racing despite his collected exterior. Convinced that the other man truly had no intention of deceiving him in this moment, he placed his hands on the back of Draco's thighs and slid them upwards to rest on his rear.

"Get me ready for you," Draco instructed softly, nuzzling his face into Theodore's hair, his arms draped over his shoulders.

The bedside table drawer opened with a wordless spell and out floated a little bottle of lubricant. Theodore tipped a generous amount of the clear fluid onto the tips of his fingers. He reached between Draco's legs and then gently traced the furrow of Draco's buttocks, allowing the oil to infuse. With another coating of oil, Theodore swirled the pad of his middle finger around Draco's entrance, eliciting a moan. Then he eased his fingertip into the tight hole. Theodore could feel Draco flinch and his muscles tighten. He kissed Draco's chest lovingly to reassure him as he serviced Draco's cock with his free hand. As Theodore inched his finger in deeper, the muscles yielding to his touch, Draco's breathing became slow and rhythmic, indicating his relaxed state.

Draco looked down at Theodore, expression warm and body pliant. "Now," he whispered, as he caressed Theodore's face.

Theodore slicked his erection with the lubricant on his palm, never breaking the stare that he and Draco shared at this moment, ice-blue eyes locked upon silvery grey. He rested his hands on Draco's hips and guided him gently down to his cock.

Just prior to entry, a thought crossed Theodore's mind. "You've done this before, right?"

Draco bit his bottom lip with a hint of coyness and shook his head slowly. But before Theodore could have any reservations, Draco impaled himself upon his rigid length. Theodore watched the ecstasy spread over Draco's expression as he entered him. Draco's feather-light eyelashes fluttered as he let his eyelids fall. The other man seemed to melt around him, becoming supple while somehow remaining impossibly tight.

Theodore was overcome with emotion. He was extremely moved that Draco wanted to share this sacred gift with him, and had possibly reserved it specifically for Theodore. It took a great deal of restraint to keep from coming before Draco was even fully seated. He gazed up at him adoringly as Draco gyrated atop him, allowing Theodore's cock to venture deeper with each downward motion, to take unclaimed, virgin territory as his own. It amazed Theodore how Draco could remain ascendant while being taken this way, his command over Theodore's body and control over his own never wavering.

Draco's fingertips ghosted over Theodore's chest, stimulating him beyond what he could handle. He had to stop him, hands clamped around wrists, eyes screwed shut, to keep his release at bay. Theodore couldn't even look at Draco anymore. He was too bloody hot, and the sight of this Adonis riding his cock was enough to make him lose it. Just the thought of fucking Draco Bloody Malfoy threatened his undoing.

He was so lost in the swirl of sensations and emotions that Theodore didn't even realize Draco was fervently pummeling his own cock to completion until he was moaning, "Oh god, Theodore, I'm going to come."

That was all it took to make Theodore spill over the edge as soon as the first stream of Draco's hot come splashed across his chest in a thick, white ribbon. Theodore's cock shuddered with involuntary contractions inside of Draco, their rapturous moans uniting in a chorus of ecstasy as their bodies coalesced.

Theodore felt faint, as if he'd just pumped the entirety of his physical and spiritual existence into Draco's body. Draco collapsed in a spent heap on top of Theodore - their bodies sodden with semen and sweat. They lay together, chests heaving, panting in perfect rhythm with each other, Draco exhaling as Theodore inhaled, until their breaths quieted.

Theodore felt a slight pang of loss as Draco rolled off of him. They lay beside each other, staring at the ceiling.

Theodore asked softly, "You alright?"

Draco chuckled. "Brilliant. You?"

Theodore laughed softly in return. "Fan-bloody-tastic."

It couldn't get any better than this. But Draco astonished Theodore once more by curling his body against him in a post-coital embrace. Theodore mused inwardly, _"Who would have guessed Draco Malfoy liked to cuddle after sex?"_ Truth be told, Theodore wasn't one to linger after the deed had been done – another expression of his defense mechanism. Yet Theodore found himself wanting nothing more than to stay there in Draco's arms.

For the first time in his life, Theodore Nott felt complete.

He didn't want to ruin the moment with words. Instead, he let his body convey what he felt inside. He wrapped his arms around Draco and kissed him softly until the blond man fell asleep. Before Theodore followed Draco into Dream, he promised himself that he'd tell Draco that he loved him if he remained in the morning. And if he weren't there when Theodore woke up, he'd know that they truly were not fated to be together. He would resign to the fact that this had just been a final act of closure, ending a very long and arduous chapter in his life.


	6. Commencement

"Persistence"

By Stacy Galore

Chapter 6: Commencement

Theodore awoke to the sound of heavy rain pounding against the windows that spanned the entire southern wall of his flat. The chill of morning sent a shiver over Theodore's bare skin. He hesitated to open his eyes because he understood the significance of the cold enveloping his body.

Theodore was alone.

His eyelids rose slowly like a curtain, revealing the bleak, grey morning and an emptiness where Draco had been last night – an emptiness both in his bed and in his heart.

Though Theodore expected Draco to leave, he couldn't help but feel a sinking sensation in his gut from utter disappointment. Additionally, despite the fact that he _never_ expected anything more from _any_ of his lovers, Theodore still felt used and empty.

Even though Draco had already gone, there was no way to take back what had transpired or to erase what Theodore now felt. The damage was done - Theodore had already admitted his true feelings to himself last night. It had been festering silently like an undiagnosed cancer in his body for ten years. Once again, Draco left a scar on Theodore's soul. Only this time, it had a name.

Love was not something one could turn on and off at their convenience.

Theodore rolled out of bed, the sticky remnants of sex still on his skin. He retrieved his underwear from the floor and slipped it on before collapsing into a melancholy slump on the sofa. He lit a cigarette and prepared to transcribe the unbelievable events of last night into his journal. He poised his pen to the paper and began to recall, in stark, blissful detail, everything Draco made him feel. And as the words amassed themselves in his mind before spilling through the tip of his pen, the tears began to fall. It wasn't an outpouring of sadness, but rather a slow, mournful trickle seeping from the corner of his eyes. He closed the journal, unwilling to relive the pain any longer.

This was a story Theodore could not bring himself to write.

He shuffled towards the bathroom, resigning himself to soak away the lovers' stain Draco had left on him. He flicked on the light. Affixed to the mirror was a little white envelope.

_Dear Theodore,_

_I'm miserably inept with kitchen spells, as I'm sure you are too. I'll be back with breakfast and coffee. No chocolate croissants this time._

_Love,_

_Draco_

_PS: I expect you to have showered by the time I return because I intend to fuck you senseless._

Theodore looked into the mirror and smirked.

_A/N: I must thank Megan once again for being the most helpful beta ever! _

_Though this is the end of my story, I hereby challenge you all to write the continuation in Draco's point of view. _


End file.
